Where are you? Why haven't you gotten back to me? I'll take this to my grave, Smash Mouth: I want to watch you eat 24 eggs.
Perhaps I came on a little too strong before. Maybe it was weird and it scared you off. Maybe my begging came off as desperate and creepy. I'm sorry, I love you, I love Smash Mouth. Let's just eat the eggs... together!
I'll take some of the load off, Smash Mouth! I'll eat 2 of your 24 eggs on camera. You won't even have to eat 24 eggs, just 22 eggs! It's the steal of the century! Just eat 22 eggs for me, on camera, while I film it in 720p HD. I'll be extremely respectful of you and your abilities as a music artist if you just let me film the eggs going into your egghole. Chew 'em up while I watch and record it all. I want to see your eggy mouth.
Thousands of dollars have been pledged for charity. Don't you see? This is the real deal. We're serious. A great many people have thought of your mouth chewing up the egg bits and wanting to see it in explicit detail. We love your Smash Mouth, especially the thought of it being full of chewed up eggs. Do it for us! Please, fill the mouth up! The eggs are free!
A man made a song for you, Smash Mouth.
You can even chew the eggs up and spit them out if you don't want to eat the eggs. Did I offend you because you're a vegan? If so, I'm sorry, how awkward. You don't have to be the one to chew the eggs, I'll move your jaw for you. It'll be like Weekend At Bernie's. You don't even have to move at all, just let your whole body go limp and I'll make it eat all the eggs.
Let me have complete control of your body, Smash Mouth. I promise we'll just eat eggs together. Give me the power to move you around and be you for a day. All I'll do is help you eat the eggs, and move your jaw around while I say in a funny voice "Smash Mouth Eating The Eggs" and make funny noises.
Please, Smash Mouth, let's eat the eggs. I'll come over today. I'll drive to San Jose right now and film it.
The guns are gone. Now what happens to all those paper targets? Don't tell me you forgot about the paper targets. The ones hanging from little clips on fancy clotheslines at shooting ranges. With no guns to destroy these legions of paper bastards, they go unchecked.
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